


Exceeding Expectations

by Fluencca



Series: Steve Rogers: Learning Empathy [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (kinda), (vaguely) - Freeform, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Protective Team, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 12:05:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14954361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluencca/pseuds/Fluencca
Summary: Tony is taken after a raid on a Hydra base. The team knows he's being tortured and does what it can to get him back, and Steve deals with some things he'd usually rather not think about.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my brain attempting to understand Steve. He's a really good guy, and a total dick to Tony, consistently.  
> I'm just trying to balance those two, because I really want to like Steve. MCU has made it hard.

The Hydra outpost wasn’t the first one they’ve tackled, and it was smaller than the previous ones. It was made up of only a few neat buildings, laid out like any number of army bases Steve has been to.

It wasn’t their first outpost, and they had the routine down, by now.

Stark disabled the perimeter, Black Widow drove the Humvee and Steve rode alongside her on his bike. The routine worked well. It took barely fifteen minutes and the base was theirs, the outsourced guards giving up their arms and surrendering with relative ease, the hardcore Hydra agents fighting to maintain their illusion of a greater cause. It mostly made Steve sad to see this kind of blind devotion to evil hasn’t waned over the 65 years.

Steve tapped his ear and spoke his orders into the comms.

“Thor and Hulk? Stay outside the base and make sure no one leaves. If someone tries to surrender—let them. Black Widow and Hawkeye, check out the east buildings. Stark and I will take the west block. We’ll meet in front of the… oddly groomed quad out front.”

It was true. For a base where everything was minimalist grey, it was a little surprising that someone had taken the time to hire a gardener for the upkeep of the magnificent, exotic-looking plants that took up most of the square between the two L-shaped building blocks.

Stark landed beside him, shot a sentry somewhere above and behind Steve, and lifted his faceplate.

“Shall we?” He asked, and turned and led the way into the first building on the left. Stark spoke as they swept through the low buildings, searching for remaining agents, information on additional Hydra bases, and, should they be so lucky, Loki’s scepter.

“Welcome to the Hydra grand tour. This lovely east-Hungarian base was established in the mid-1980s judging by the state of the computers, which really must make one wonder what on earth they do here, running Windows 2.0.”

Oh, Steve knew this one. “They should be using at least Windows 7, right? But not Windows Vespa. That’s a thing.”

Stark went into a room across the hall, but kept up the conversation over the comms.

“Close enough, Old Man. I’m impressed.”

Steve smiled under his cowl.

“As I’m sure you’ve noticed,” Stark continued, “the décor is a classic Nazi-Grey, which differs wildly from the Fascist-Slate and the Dictatorial-Pewter we’ve seen in other bases.”

Steve didn’t bother interrupting Stark. He knew he could go on like this for hours. Steve just cleared the room he was in, and went into the next one down the hall.

It still surprised him sometimes that Tony was Howard’s son. He was so unlike the reserved, serious, driven man Steve had known. Howard had been someone Steve could respect immediately. He knew Howard approved of how driven _he_ was, how brave. How strong. Once again, he found himself sorry that he hadn’t lived long enough in his own timeline to get to know the man better, and for Howard to know him. They had never actually made it to _friendship_ , and the unfairness of the missed opportunity still stung, sometimes.

But he knew that it was pointless to dwell on. Especially during an active mission.

The room he was in was empty, as well, but it looked like it belonged to someone important. The desk was messy in an organized way, and the papers scattered as though whoever sat here left in the middle of important work. Steve set down his shield by the desk, and went to the other side of it to take a look at those papers.

Stark was still talking.

“The maid service has apparently been on strike, considering the sheer amount of tra—“

Stark cut out for a moment, and Steve looked up from the documents on the desk. They were in Hungarian, anyway, and he couldn’t make out any of the words.

“Tony? Everything alright?”

“Um, yes and no. I found a communique with coordinates for a base in Sokovia. Did we know about that one?”

“Slovakia? I don’t think so. That’s good work, Stark. What was the not alright thing?” Steve asked, and decided to go find Tony. As usual, it seemed like the information was where he was at.

“I also found a report on security measures for this outpost. Looks like this place might be rigged with explosives. The plans are almost as old as you, so I’m not sure if they’ve been implemented or are even still relevant. Jarvis is scanning right now. I’m on my way to you,” Tony said. Steve could hear his repulsors firing up over the comms.

“Have Jarvis alert the others to be on guard,” Steve said, and took a step around the desk. Something small and delicate _clicked_ beneath his boot. A loud humming engaged. A series of beeps rang out.

Steve looked at his shield, but it was on the far side of the desk. He wouldn’t be able to… He looked up to see Stark hovering at the doorway. The beeping increased in urgency.

“Tony—“ Steve began, but he didn’t really know what he could say. Stark was a smart guy, maybe he’d know, anyway. These things happen. In a way, he was glad _he_ wouldn’t have to bury another soldier. He tried to give Stark a smile.

He heard the rumble of explosion rise from behind him. He saw Stark shoot both arms forward, as though to repulse the blast away from Steve, which Stark should know could never work. But then he saw the suit fly forward, even as flames licked his back. Stark fell to the ground from where he’d been hovering.

Steve had just enough time to shout, “Don’t!” before he was cut off by the suit assembling itself around him, for a moment cutting off his sight, his air, his everything.

The bomb exploded.

Steve was hit by a massive lash of heat, followed by a percussive wave so powerful it knocked him clear off his feet. He was flung forward, forcefully, straight into Stark. Steve slammed into him the same moment he felt a blow to his back, and a thousand little knives dug into his skin. He and Stark were thrown clear across the hall and into the room across from it. The far wall crumbled on their impact, and Steve’s last thought before he lost consciousness was _dusty._

~*~

Steve came to with a start, but he couldn’t really move. In fact, he couldn’t really breathe, either. He gasped and tried to take in air, but there was simply no room in the suit for his chest to expand.

“Jarvis,” he panted, “Open, open the suit.”

The suit silently undid itself, and Steve rolled out onto his knees, inhaling deeply and trying to regulate his breath. The room was a hazy with falling dust from the broken ceiling and the blown-out walls. The ground was strewn with broken furniture, papers, and concrete.  He looked back at the shell of Iron Man’s suit. The entire back of the suit with pierced through. Vibranium, he assumed, because the shrapnel had cut clear through the metal of the suit and sliced his back like so many daggers. If Stark hadn’t given him the suit…

Stark.

“Tony?” Steve coughed out, and began pushing through the rubble on the ground.

He called out again, more urgently, and struggled to his feet. He spun, looking around the room, and began lifting massive chunks of broken walls. His heart hammered. There was no way Stark could have survived the walls caving in on them, and Steve desperately hoped not to find Stark beneath the rubble.

He didn’t.

The only sign that Stark had even been in the room was a small patch of blood, not far from where Steve had landed in the suit. The man himself was gone.

He tapped his ear.

“Is anyone on comms? Does anyone have eyes on Tony?”

It was Barton who answered.

“Captain, are you alright? We’ve been trying you for the last fifteen minutes. We have the Hulk trying to clear a path to you guys.” He paused, and only then registered what Steve had asked.

“Isn’t Stark with _you_?”

“He was when the bomb went off, but…” Steve trailed off. He didn’t see how Stark could have wandered off after an explosion like that. In fact, it would have been impossible.

“Barton,” Steve said urgently, and although he knew he ran the risk of setting off another bomb, he made his way towards the hall. He climbed over and through the debris, towards where he could see the Hulk clearing a path.

“Did anyone make it out of the perimeter? Any vehicles?”

Steve grabbed his shield from the ground, and leapt over the ruins of a doorway.

There was another moment of silence, and then it was Black Widow who answered.

“A helicopter. A helicopter took off a few minutes after the explosion. Thor was helping us out of the east buildings,” she said. Her tone was laden with the same realization Steve had come to just moments before.

Someone had taken Stark.

~*~

The ride back to their base was a blur. He’d gotten on his bike despite Natasha’s worried reminder of, “Steve, your back.” 

He didn’t care. They had a man down, and they needed to get him back.

When he arrived at the field where they had landed the quinjet it was past midday, and already getting dark. Steve hadn’t quite managed to forget how much he hated European winters.

Thor was already there, the Hulk just bounding into the clearing dragging Tony’s empty suit behind him like a ragdoll. Steve rode past them both and up the ramp to the jet, allowing the bike to slide out from under him and skid away to the side. He called out to Jarvis as he made his way to the pilot’s seat.

“Jarvis, can you scan the woods for a secondary base? We need any info we can get.”

“I’m terribly sorry, Captain. But I’m not authorized to run illegal surveillance without authorization from Mr. Stark.” He sounded genuinely sorry, and it made Steve a little uncomfortable. The whole premise of a machine with feelings put him on edge. It was like those imagined-science magazines Bucky used to shoplift when they were younger. They never ended well.

And this wasn’t looking very good, either. Without Jarvis they’d be flying blind, and he could only imagine that Hydra wouldn’t waste any time with Tony. They might be halfway across Europe, by now.

“Stark was taken. We need to find him, his life depends on it. Isn’t there some kind of emergency…” He hesitated, searching for the right term. “Protocol?”

God, he needed a crash course in this computer stuff.

“I do have an emergency protocol, but only Dr. Banner is authorized to run it, Captain.”

“Great,” Steve muttered, and made his way outside. The Hulk was standing idly without the quinjet, trying to close the Iron Man suit with clumsy fingers. It wasn’t working very well.

“Hey, Big Guy. Any chance we can speak to—“

“Cap, don’t,” Natasha said, running up behind him. He hadn’t even heard the Humvee pull up. Barton was gathering gear and piling it into the jet.

“Don’t mention the other guy, it only makes him angrier.”

“So how do we get B—the doctor back? We need him, Jarvis won’t respond to our commands.”

Natasha looked from Steve to the Hulk, then wordlessly pushed ahead so she was standing between them. When she spoke it was with a tenderness Steve had never heard before.

“Hey, hey there, big guy.”

She had his attention. He dropped the suit and growled at her. She didn’t back down, but her next step was tentative.

“Look around, it’s getting pretty cold out here, right?”

The hulk bared his teeth. Steve tensed, ready to pull her back if the Hulk attacked.

Natasha extended her hand, gently.

“Okay, okay, forget that. But… You see it’s getting late? It’s like that in the winter. It’s getting dark out. The sun is going down.” She reached forward, her fingertips touching his. “It’s getting so late, big guy. Soon it’s going to be night. It’s dark here, because the sun is going down. Everything is going to be so quiet. Do you like the quiet?”

She stroked the inside of his wrist, her small, white fingers making flitting contact against his green skin. He grunted, and shook his head petulantly. Natasha took that as a sign to resume her soothing speech. She continued talking about nighttime, and quiet, and reminding the Hulk that he didn’t like the quiet. Eventually, he sat down, and closed his eyes. Natasha stroked the tips of his fingers.

And then it was Bruce sitting there, cross legged and panting, shivering on the frozen ground.

Natasha continued whispering to him, and Clint came forward with a large thermal blanket. They helped him into the quinjet, Steve and Thor following behind them.

He hated that he wasn’t able to let the man rest.

“Dr. Banner, we need you upfront. Tony was taken by Hydra agents,” Steve started, and it seemed to send a jolt of energy through Dr. Banner. He stood up from his seat, clutching the blanket closely around him. He spoke through shivers.

“What? How is that possible? How’d they get through his suit?” He seemed to get distracted for a moment, and looked down at his own hands. He looked back up at Steve.

“He wasn’t wearing it,” Steve said, and left it at that. He didn’t want to have to explain how that had come to pass, not right now. He knew that the others had already figured it out, it wasn’t hard considering the state of the suit, Steve’s back, and Tony’s absence. But Steve couldn’t shake the thought that _it should have been him_ , and it made him a little angry.

Stark shouldn’t have been anywhere near the blast, he wouldn’t have even been in the room if not for Steve. As soon as Stark knew about possible explosives, he’d gotten off the ground. That’s what smart people did. Steve’s carelessness had gotten Stark taken by Hydra, while he’d been safely ensconced in Stark’s own armor. The utter injustice of it was infuriating.

“Jarvis said you had access to emergency protocols. Can you run them? We need to start scanning for where they may have taken him.”

Banner just nodded. Still naked beneath his blanket, he pushed forward, and placed his hand on the scanner at the dashboard.

“Dr. Banner,” He said, then added, “Jarvis, please run Protocol Birthday Suit.”

“Of course, Doctor Banner,” Jarvis said, and Bruce nodded once.

“Birthday Suit?” Barton asked, an eyebrow raised.

“It’s one of several emergency protocols Tony designed. If he’s without his suit, it gives the rest of the team command authorization for Jarvis. It’s also supposed to scan for any digital identifiers Tony may have on his person. It’s limited in range, so we may have to move around a bit, but Jarvis is already looking for him.”

“That’s a good start,” Steve said. “Barton, let’s get off the ground. Maybe we can see something from the air. Natasha, see if you can pick up anything from local radio chatter. Thor, be ready to fight. And Bruce—get some rest. We may need you before long.”

They each nodded, and took to their corner of the quinjet.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been three hours since Stark was taken, and they still had no solid leads. Jarvis had located several structures in the surrounding woods, and they’d checked them out, but none had been Hydra bases or outposts. They piled back into the jet and kept looking.

Steve had changed out of his uniform. He examined it once it was off, and the cuts down the back had been jarring. He’d been so close to death, closer than he’d been in a long time. He hated being on a mission, but out of his suit. It made him feel like even more of an outsider. Which he _knew_ wasn’t true, but he hated that he kinda understood why Stark hadn’t trusted him with Jarvis’ emergency protocols. Would he have remembered them in real time, or known how to access them? He wasn’t sure. He knew that he wasn’t on par with Stark, but as the leader he should have made a greater effort to learn. He vowed to himself that he would, just as soon as they returned home.

“Steve? You need to come see this,” Nat said from the front of the jet, and Steve didn’t like her tone. It was very carefully not-panicked. He pulled on a black sweater and joined the others up front.

He stopped short, his entire body rigid. Then he pushed himself forward towards the holographic display up front.

Tony was on the screen.

His arms were chained to a stone wall behind him. Blood dripped from his wrists and down his fingers slowly, consistently. He was half-leaning against the wall, his head slumped against his chest. He was wearing his DriFit shirt and slacks, but his feet were bare. He was breathing. Steve saw the condensation of his breath rise in steady plumes above him. Steve allowed himself to exhale the breath _he’d_ been holding.

“What is this? Jarvis, have you found him?”

“I’m afraid not quite, Captain. This signal sought me out. It’s being scrambled and rerouted all over the world, but it eventually directs back to me.”

He really needed to learn this technical crap.

“So how are we seeing Tony? Are they, Hydra, showing us this?”

“I…” Jarvis hesitated. “I don’t think so. If I had to guess, I would say that Mr. Stark somehow redirected this feed, for us to trace. He is likely using some local version of me to get into their systems, and send out the signal. I am already attempting to narrow down the location. It may take some time.”

Steve wanted to ask what exactly Jarvis had meant, but there was movement on screen. A man stepped into the frame, only the back of his head visible. He was holding a large firehose.

“No,” Natasha breathed, a second before they did it.

An enormous blast of water hit Tony in the chest, strong enough that man holding the hose took a step back to balance himself against the force of it. The water kept coming. It battered Stark’s chest, his face. He sputtered and gasped for air, losing his balance. He hung from his arms as the assault continued, trying to pull in air but getting mouthfuls of water, instead. His arms pulled against the chains, fists curling and grasping at nothing as he tried desperately to breathe.

It took Steve a moment to realize they had stopped. Stark was still gasping as though he were drowning, taking in deep breaths that seemed to get caught in his throat. He managed to get his feet beneath him, and once he was standing he retched on the ground in front of him. That seemed to settle him enough to look up at whoever was behind the camera, his eyes wide with apprehension. Steve had never seen Tony look so… lost.

It scared him a little.

In addition to taking shallow breaths, Stark was shivering now, and Steve only just realized what the point of that had been. They were in central Europe in December. He must be literally _freezing._

“Ah, Mr. Stark. Good evening, and welcome. I do apologize for the rude awakening, but it is time to get started,” a voice said, the accent reminding Steve once again why he hated Europe. A man pulled up a chair just within the corner of the frame. He glanced back to someone behind the camera and asked, “Rendben van?” Then he nodded and smiled easily, turning back to Stark.

Steve didn’t understand the words, but he recognized the tone from his days touring and performing. That Nazi criminal was doing an _equipment check_. And he was wearing a heavy winter coat. Steve’s hands curled into fists. He felt, more than saw, the others tense around him.

“Do… They… Teach.. You,” Stark began, violent tremors forcing him to pause after each word. “English… For… Nazis?”

He somehow managed to smile rudely, and Steve felt an odd overflow of pride. Only Stark could managed to sound condescending even though he could barely speak. That part, at least, shouldn’t have been a surprise.

“Where are we, some refitted Hungarian death camp?” Stark asked. His body was tense, now; it looked like he was trying to control the waves of cold running through him. He blinked slowly, as though it took effort to open and refocus his eyes. 

“There _were_ no death camps in Hungaria,” the man snapped. “We aren’t barbarians. These majestic mountains have been home to some of our greatest thinkers!”

Stark’s face barely registered a change, but he seemed a little more pleased with himself than he had a moment before.

But the Hydra man collected himself, flipped a page on the clipboard he was holding, and had the audacity to laugh.

“It is quite amazing. It says you’d do that, right here.” He adjusted his glasses, and read off the page.

 _“You’d have to take some kind of action to slow his mind, because Tony is sharper than anyone I’ve ever met. No amount of coercion could stop his brain. Extreme temperature—in fact, extreme cold, he’s never liked the winter, he wears long sleeves even in the summer—might just slow him down enough to allow an interrogation. Won’t slow his mouth, though._ ”

The man took off his glasses, and crossed his legs comfortably.

“You see? I shouldn’t have been surprised. But allow me to explain: We have here a step-by-step guide to extracting information from _you_ , personally, Mr. Stark. We’ve only recently uncovered it, but it was a _joy_. The entire outpost you took down was devoted to interrogation research, but we are _so_ excited to test this particular set of instructions. Imagine our delight when you were foolish enough to set of one of our bombs without your suit on.”

Steve looked up, but none of the others were looking at him. It wasn’t lost on him that he was, in a way, the cause of this, but he bit down on the guilt. He wouldn’t let it cloud his judgement.

On screen, the man stood up and set down the clipboard, making his way closer to Stark.

“It is quite a marvel you survived at all, I must say.” The man grabbed Stark’s right hand. Tony tried to pull back, but between the chains and the cold, he was no match for the man in front of him.

“I take it you were standing behind the suit when the bomb exploded. To have caught shrapnel only in your arms and hands… It’s very lucky,” the man said, and forcibly closed Tony’s fist.

Tony’s sudden intake of breath was harsh. He tried again to pull his hand, but it was firmly locked in both the other man’s fists. A fresh trickle of blood escaped Tony’s fist, dripping slowly to the ground. The man pressed harder.

“Uh-oh, pokey,” the man said as Tony gasped sharply, and readjusted his grip. A shard had broken through the back of Tony’s hand under the pressure he was exerting.

“Oh, I have a riddle: Do you know what you call an engineer who can’t use his hands? IT!” The man gave a final squeeze and let go of Tony’s hand.

“I shall take great joy in slaying this man,” Thor said over Steve’s shoulder.

Steve really hoped he resisted capture when they arrived. “Any progress in tracking the signal?” He asked.

“The signal is bouncing off several satellites, but I believe we are within 500 kilometers of it, Captain,” Jarvis supplied.

“We know they’re still in Hungary,” Barton said, and turned to the map on his display.

“And we know they’re in the mountains,” Natasha added. “Considering they took him from there,” she pointed, “and headed north-west, they might just be somewhere here.

“The Bükk mountains.”

“Jarvis?” Steve asked. “Is it possible the signal is coming from there?”

“It is possible, Captain. But I do not have a definitive answer. I will be able to scan more thoroughly when we are nearer.”

“Alright, then. Barton?”

Clint didn’t reply. He retook the helm and plotted a course.

It felt good to have a plan, or at least a direction. But there was something else that was bothering Steve.

“Hey, Jarvis, can you search—I don’t know, records?—for who might have written an interrogation guide for Tony? I assume he has enemies, but this seems a bit extreme.”

Banner spoke up, then. He was still a little pale, and he hugged himself as though he were cold, despite the warm sweater he was wearing. Steve wondered why he dropped the blanket.

“This is more than extreme. Most of Tony’s usual enemies are businessmen, they sometimes try to steal from him or embarrass him in the press, not this. This is personal.”

Steve nodded. “Jar, try searching for anyone who might have a personal gripe against Stark, but be thorough. We need to find a copy of that document. Figure out who’s behind this.”

“Yes, Captain. I’m searching through all public and private documents, now.”

Steve turned his attention back to the screen. Tony tried to uncurl his fist, biting back on a grunt of pain as he tried to stretch slightly purple fingers away from his palm. Even from this angle, Steve could see his hand was a raw and bloody, small pieces of metal glittering where they were embedded in his flesh on either side. His fingers remained partially curled, like claws. His hand shook separately from the shudders that raked the rest of Tony’s body.

The man gestured, there was a sound of a door somewhere to his left opening and slamming shut, and a young woman was thrown onto the floor beside him. She could have been no older than twenty. The man reached down and grabbed her by the hair, positioning her between himself and Stark. Steve knew the type of men who would use helpless people as leverage against others more powerful than they. His anger became a burning rage.

“Do you know her, Mr. Stark? You should. Her entire family was killed by a bomb similar to the one that brought you to us. Vibranium shrapnel tore them to teeny pieces. Do you know who made that bomb, Stark?” He paused, then chuckled.

“Oh, silly me. I just gave it away.” The girl was sobbing, soundlessly. Her bound hands covering her face as she cried.

“She was a singer. She had the voice of an angel. But your bomb took her jaw. It took her tongue. It took her life. We thought she deserved to face her killer before we put her out of her misery.” He pulled a gun and pointed it at the girl’s head.

“Anything to say, Stark?”

It looked to Steve that Tony was gathering his strength. He took several deep breaths that didn’t seem to go all the way down.

“I… not mine,” Stark said, then added, “Don’t.”  Each word was a struggle. He was slumping, again, his legs unable to take his full weight.

He pushed the girl closer to Stark, and leaned in to speak in her ear.

“This is him. The man who killed your family. Who killed _you_. Beg him for your life, maybe it’s not too late,” he said.

“What game is this?” Thor asked, from beside Steve. “He will kill her regardless, it is plain.”

Steve sighed. “Not before he uses her to break Stark,” he said.

Watching this was physically painful for Steve. He knew that Tony had been responsible for a lot of death. The fact of it had been inescapable since the moment Steve had woken from being a Capsi—in the ice. They’d called him the Merchant of Death, and the name had been well-earned. Steve himself felt betrayed that he’d let Howard Stark’s legacy become one of destruction. The man had gone behind enemy lines, something he suspected Tony would never do, voluntarily. _Had_ suspected. But watching Tony in Hydra’s hands, there because he’d been protecting Steve, and being called a killer… It wasn’t right.

The girl, it seemed, took her captor at his word. She launched herself at Tony, slipping on the wet ground and grasping at the front of Stark’s shirt as she landed against him. She held on tightly, begging without speaking. Tony looked down at her, muscles straining as his arms pulled at the chains fastened to the wall. They didn’t give, but he kept trying, as though to hold her, to protect her.

The man pulled the trigger.

Blood and brains exploded on Tony’s face. He gasped in shock. The girl’s body collapsed onto his, then slid to the floor. He tried to take a step back, but there was little anywhere for him to go. He breathed heavily, eyes on the still form of the girl beneath him.

The man made a show of dusting himself off, and took his seat again. He consulted his clipboard.

“Tell me, Stark. I’m sorry, we can be more intimate than that. Tony, can you _taste_ your culpability in her death?”

Tony finally looked up, his eyes wide. Haunted.

Around Steve, the team was echoing his reaction, each in their own way. Barton was focused on the flight path. He had avoided watching the scene unfold, and was busy pretending he hadn't heard it, either. He was flying manually, keeping them low enough to go unnoticed, high enough to avoid any structures or treetops. The going was slow.

Natasha was staring avidly at the screen. She barely blinked, taking in every detail before her. He had no doubt that if needed, he could quiz her on everything they beheld. Her eyes were a little narrowed, her mouth a little pinched. She was angry.

Bruce looked physically ill. He, a little ironically, never had the stomach for war. He had looked away, but hadn’t moved from his spot. He was breathing almost as heavily as Tony was.

Thor was handling his hammer, caressing it, his eyes almost glowing.

Steve himself was… He didn’t really know what he was. He was preoccupied with Jarvis and what he might have found. He was worried about finding Tony. He burned with the injustice of using that poor girl—murdering her—to make a point. And while a part of him knew it was unfair, he found he was a little angry at Stark, again. If only he hadn’t given Steve the suit… Steve might have survived. It was one of the only things we was good for. Steve might have been taken, instead, and Stark would be with the team, much better equipped to direct the efforts at finding this Hydra base. It wasn’t rational, but he knew that he would have been harder to subdue. He might even have been able to save that girl.

His attention was jerked back to the screen when his thoughts were echoed back to him. He felt a burning sense of shame.

“And how does it feel to know that you were too weak to save her? Do you think Captain America would have been able to _snap_ right through those chains?” the man asked lightly, his accent painting his words with an almost comical tone.

Banner’s head snapped up at those words.

“Jarvis, mute the feed, but keep recording.” He turned to the rest of them, from where he stood in the back.

“I’ve heard those words before. I’ve heard that particular jab. Jarvis, limit the search parameters for the interrogation guide to those involving Howard,” Bruce said. He raised his eyes to Steve’s, as though he could anticipate his objection.

“Howard _Stark_? Banner, there’s no way Howard was involved in this.”

Banner replied with urgent confidence.

“When Tony was 14 his nanny died—Barton, don’t make that face, he knows it was weird. She was, like, basically his primary caregiver. But Howard caught Tony crying after her funeral and he said that exact thing to him. _Do you think Captain America would be so weak?_ ”

Steve opened his mouth to reply, but he didn’t really have anything to say. That was absurd on several levels. He just shook his head and looked at the others. They were all looking at _him._

“Guys, I cry,” he said defensively. “But that doesn’t mean that Howard wrot—“

“I’ve located the files, Dr. Banner,” Jarvis said.

No one spoke for a long moment.

“Captain, I believe you may wish to unmute the feed,” Jarvis said, and Steve was glad to have a moment before he needed to deal with that new information. _Howard?_ It simply couldn’t be true.

“—noticed, we are recording this for posterity. The scientific method is very important to us. So let’s start with an easy question. What is your name?”

Tony looked like he was fighting to remain conscious. His shivering had turned into occasional tremors that went through his body like a wave, rattling the chains that held him upright. He was looking straight at his interrogator, but his eyes were unfocused.

“Come now. Do we need to bring in another victim of your senseless murder? We have no shortage of supply.” That seemed to cut through Tony’s daze. His head lolled forward a bit, but his eyes were sharp, for now.

“ _What is your name?”_

“Tony… Stark,” he said, and it looked as though he couldn’t help it. He glanced at the body of the woman who still lay at his feet. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

“Good! See how nice it is when you cooperate? That wasn’t hard _at all_. Now, tell me about… Black Widow. What’s her real name?”

Tony laughed. It was high, and a little hysterical, but he gave an honest to God chuckle. It went on for a good few moments, until it turned into a rattling cough. Tony pulled at the chains, again, as though to hold his middle.

A series of trembles passed, then Tony panted, slowly, “I can tell you that… I’m more scared of her than I am of you.”

Did his eye flit to the camera, for the barest of moments? Steve wasn’t sure.

Natasha gasped out a small laugh. Steve was surprised to see open fondness—and sadness—play across her face for a moment. She schooled her features almost immediately.

“That so? Interesting. Tell me about her weakness in battle.”

Stark stood up straighter, and leaned as far forward as he could against his chains. He was taking rapid, shallow breaths. He shook his head once, never breaking eye contact with the man sitting before him. He worked his jaw as though trying to decide what to say. When he spoke, it was in broken gasps, but his voice was strong.

“I’m… not… that… cold, asshole.”

The man sighed.

“We can fix that,” he said, and gestured to someone standing behind the camera.

Someone came forward with the firehose, again, and just as the jet of water hit Stark in the chest, the feed cut out.


	3. Chapter 3

The silence was interrupted only by the low rumble of the quinjet engines. The image disappeared, Tony’s writhing form gave way to nothing.

Thor asked, “How long can a human survive these temperatures? For an Asgardian it is nothing, but Stark did not seem… Well.”

“Not long,” Natasha said, curtly. “We need to find him, fast.”

“Jarvis, any luck on a location yet?” Steve knew Natasha was right.

“I have narrowed the origin of the signal to within a 200 square kilometer region. Once the signal reengages, I can pinpoint it with exactitude.”

“Alright,” Steve said. “Barton, let Jarvis pilot for now. He can keep scanning for any structures or heatwaves, anything that might be a Hydra base.

“Let’s figure out what their next move is. Let’s take a look at these files Jarvis found.”

Barton joined them in the rear of the jet, a little reluctantly. They each grabbed a tablet and a seat, Thor looking over Banner’s shoulder. Jarvis loaded an audio file, complete with transcript running at the bottom.

The file was dated to 1980, and began with remarks from a Senator Barkley, running what he called an _intimate_ town-house meeting. Senate elections were nearing, and he was thankful to have generous donor Howard Stark as a guest on the small panel they were running.

Bruce skimmed through the transcript, and had Jarvis jump past the discussion on taxes, Regan, and infrastructure. Someone asked about the senator’s beliefs regarding the interrogation of Russian spies. The senator deflected the question. Bruce skipped some more, until the meeting ended, and several people came up to the senator and Stark to say farewell. Eventually, only the two of them remained, but the recording continued.

The senator offered Stark a drink, and then asked him his thoughts about interrogation.  

_Well, you know I’m in the weapons industry, but weapons will only take you so far. I’ve actually given this some thought, and I think the United States needs to take a new approach to interrogation. Of course, this isn’t tried and tested. I haven’t done the research._

_But nothing has made me more aware of human nature than fathering a child. And I have some thoughts based on observing my own son: some of it might be particular to him, but I am certain most is universal. We can make interrogations both more humane, and more effective._

Steve sighed with relief. Howard had been asked a question. It was a little distasteful, but it wasn’t… It wasn’t a personal vendetta, as Bruce had suspected. Howard never expected this to be used against Tony.

 _First, you’d have to take some kind of action to slow his mind, because Tony is sharper than anyone I’ve ever met. No amount of coercion could stop his brain. Extreme temperature—in fact, extreme cold, he’s never liked the winter, he wears long sleeves even in the summer—might just slow him down enough to allow an interrogation. Won’t slow his mouth, though._ ”

On the recording, the senator laughed. Barton took a deep, controlled breath.

_My son is stubborn. The sheer amount of it is mind-boggling. It’s a trait I imagine well found in the types of men—and women, I suppose—you may need to interrogate. I’ve noticed that stubbornness, much like the will to resist, needs to be worn down. Eventually, given enough time, you can get your subject to do anything. Control is not a matter of strength, but of endurance._

_With my son, for example, that’s apparent when he attempts to earn privilege, such as meetings with his parents or the company of so-called friends who were by no means intellectual peers. So I demand of him other menial things, and he’ll fight me on those, and eventually decide that the privileges he sought were simply not worth the effort._

_Likewise with your foreign operatives or agents, though with physical discomfort: If you make it cold, and wet, and painful, you work to weaken their overall resolve._

_But what really works? The true attack on the mind? Confront your subject with failures. Even imagined ones. There is nothing more motivating for Tony than being held responsible for things he can’t control._

“How old was Tony when this was recorded?” Barton asked. His whole body was tense, like he was restraining himself from attacking someone.

“Ten,” Banner said weakly. “He was ten.”

Barton crossed his arms, body still taut, and continued listening. Steve was having a hard time reconciling the man on the recording with the one he’d known. He was talking about Tony like he was a stranger, about his brilliance like it was an asset.

But it got worse. Howard spent long minutes detailing various ways and efficacies of hurting and maiming a person, some permanent, some not; but each was anchored in how he thought Tony would react to it. Beatings. Blinding. Drugging. Lashes. Electricity. Strangulation. Drowning. He would always extrapolate to ‘subjects’ in general, but then unfailingly circle back to Stark. It wasn’t even violent, or intending to do harm. Just… Calculating. Cold.

And then it got even _worse._

 _The military—or the Pentagon, rather—has even approached me with requests to develop something that could regulate sexual assault as means of interrogation. Naturally I refused. Illegalities and utter immorality aside, it would simply be ineffective. When I consider my son, even factoring for him reaching manhood, I know something like that might_ seem _effective. He needs to illusion of control, more than others. His façade of strength is what keeps him upright long enough to achieve anything. To have that façade shattered would likely break him. But to break a person is relatively easy. You would still need them to function, if you’re after long-term cooperation. If you’re interrogating someone like Tony, someone_ smart _, you would want them to work with you, eventually, creatively. Never break something you can’t put back together._

The men paused in their conversation, and Barton flung his tablet across the jet. It bounced off Steve’s bike, and landed, shattered, next to Banner’s feet.

“I’m _done._ I cannot listen to another second of this. Who the fuck sits down to write a _torture manifesto_ for their own kid?”

Steve knew he wasn’t wrong, but he still felt a need to defend Howard. Defend the Howard he had known, at least.

“He wasn’t… He never meant for this to be actually used, Barton. It was just a theoretical discussion.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s making a hell of a difference to Stark right now.” Barton stood, but there was nowhere to pace. He turned towards the cockpit, then whipped back around to the group, one hand on his waist, the other holding his mouth, like he was trying to hold back sick.

“Did we know this? That his dad was an asswipe?” He looked to Natasha and Bruce.

Natasha only tilted her head noncommittally, but Bruce wrung his hands.

“I, guess, kinda? Not really, not like this, but I had a clue.”

Barton just shook his head.

“Parents don’t do that. Normal parents don’t talk about ways to hurt their kids. I should —“

“Clint.” Natasha voice carried a sharp warning. Her eyes narrowed. It almost sounded like a threat. Barton, at least, took it as one. He remained silent, for a moment, looking alarmed at what he had been about to say. Spies. Stark was right. Their secrets had secrets.

“I’m going to go up front and begin a manual scan,” he said. “I don’t need to hear any more of this. I’m out.” He took his seat at the helm, and began pouring over terrain and energy readings.

Natasha went to join him. She left her tablet on her seat. She had apparently heard enough, as well.

On the recording, the men settled into some small talk, before the senator prompted Stark, again.

- _You must be proud of that boy of yours? I hear he’s bright, and if I remember correctly he’s quite charming._

 _Oh, he’s charming alright. But that’s part of the problem with him. He’ll sit around charming a whole room of people, just making jokes and putting people at ease, and they’ll love him without even realizing he isn’t_ doing _anything for them. Just… he won't showcase his superior talents in order to make others feel better._

“Turn that asshole down,” Barton called from the front. Jarvis complied, and Steve and Bruce followed the transcript more closely on their tablets.

_And sure, he’s more than bright. He’s brilliant. He could change the world, some day but—but I worry about him, Eldridge. He’s young, but already I see… He’s weak. He’s selfish. He doesn’t know what it means to sacrifice. Hell, he barely knows what it means to share. And those are things you can’t teach, and damn if I haven’t tried. I fear he’s a coward. The men I knew in the War… He shames their legacy. Those heroes? He's not fit to stand in their shadows._

That was too much, even for Steve. He tossed his tablet onto Natasha’s empty seat. He wished there was somewhere for him to go, to hide. He settled, for the moment, with leaning forward on his knees, examining the floor between himself and Dr. Banner.

He knew, technically speaking, that Tony was younger than him. Steve was long on ice when he was born, already a legend. The thought of his—what had Howard called it, legacy?—being use to shame a brilliant kid into thinking he wasn’t good enough? It was sickening. Especially because he _knew_ how that kid turned out. He was alive, probably several times over, because of him.

And Stark had grown up with this supposed weakness literally whispered in his ear. Steve ran both his hands over his face. He himself felt so remarkably, completely, unerringly foolish. Had he really thought once that Howard would have respected him more if he were closer to him, intellectually? Had he seriously entertained fantasies of working with the man after the War?

His mind replayed all his interactions with Howard, and he wondered if he’d had a clue. Had he been the good man Steve thought he was? Had something changed him? Was Steve somehow overreacting? He didn't think so. He could hear the disappointment in Howard’s voice when he called Tony _a coward_ —and how did one even recognize that in a ten year old?—over and over again. He was thankful when Jarvis interrupted him. He left Thor and Banner to finish reviewing the recording.

“Yeah, Jarvis?”

“I’ve identified the man with Mr. Stark. He’s Laszlo Greenberger, a Hungarian national who consulted their government’s Counter Terrorism Centre, the TEK. It seems he was recruited to Hydra in the early 1990s. I am currently in his home network, attempting to track his location. It seems we are close.”

“Good, keep me updated,” Steve said.

He was standing in the relative bottleneck of the quinjet, the cockpit on his left and Banner and Thor to his right. He hated waiting.

“Does anyone else feel the urge to punch Howard Stark in the mouth?” He asked no one in particular.

“Among other things,” Natasha answered, conversationally, as though she had just been thinking along those lines.

“Arrow to the nutsack,” Barton said, matter-of-factly, as though Steve had asked for the time.

 “I have some thoughts about lightening and where it might strike,” Thor said, and he came up to stand by Steve. “It is, as Tony is fond of saying, where the stars do not glitter.”

Steve smiled, despite himself. He wondered if that was how he sounded to the others when he spoke about anything invented after 1945.

Bruce said nothing. His glasses were on his forehead, but he pulled them back on and pointed behind Thor.

“Guys—“

The feed was back up.

Tony had been beaten. He was now bleeding from his nose, and from his temple, and the blood was a shock of color against his pale skin and mauve lips. He breathed slowly and deliberately, as though every breath was an effort. Steve didn’t know how he was still standing.

“There we go, Mr. Stark,” The man—Greenberger—said as he took his seat. “That was just to establish baseline.”

“Baseline, that’s on page twenty-two,” Bruce whispered.

“Mr. Stark? You with us?” Greenberger asked politely.

Steve wasn’t so sure he was. He kept trying to look at Greenberger, but he seemed unable to hold his head up long enough to maintain eye-contact.

“Tell me your name.”

“Ton… Stark.” Tony didn’t hesitate before answering, slurring out the words with labored huffs.

“Who is Captain America?”

Again, Tony gave them Steve’s name with visible effort, but without pause. Steve’s heart curled in on itself at how little resistance was left in him.

“Tell me a weakness of the Hulk."

“He’s green,” Tony says, and his head falls forward on his chest.

“Mr. Stark!” Greenberger snapped, and Tony’s head bobbed up again, though his eyes remained unfocused.

“Tell me about the Hulk, or we’ll have to establish baseline. _Again._ How does one turn him back to Dr. Banner?”

Tony made a small, desperate sound in the back of his throat. “Don’t… know,” he said, and he sounded scared. Steve hated hearing that tone on him.

“How does one turn him back to Dr. Banner?”

Tony tried to shake his head, but immediately he closed his eyes, as though the movement was painful. “Don’t, know,” he gasped. His breaths were coming in as small punctuations, no longer deep, no longer sufficient. He was beginning to panic.

“Captain, I have located the origin of the signal, as well as Mr. Greenberger. They are 35 kilometers east of our current location. Agent Barton, I have taken the liberty of plugging in the coordinates.”

The quinjet turned sharply to port, and each of the Avengers braced themselves against a side or ceiling.

“Please, quickly, I don’t know,” Tony begged.

“What was that?” Natasha asked, and leaned in to examine the display closer. She zoomed in on Tony’s left wrist. A small, metal band lit with a tiny blue light.

“I have made contact with my localized version,” Jarvis said. “I am in their systems.”

That last thing Tony said had been directed at _them_. Stark knew they were close.

Steve’s relief barely had time to form before his attention was back on the live feed. The man had given a signal to someone off camera, and the firehose was back in an instant. The pressure seemed to be lighter this time, but they kept it trained squarely on Stark’s face. He choked and coughed and tried to back into the wall, but the spray followed him easily, forcing him to inhale water. He lost his footing and hung limply from his arms, too weak to try and find his balance, again.

Greenberger signaled a stop, and the firehose dropped. Tony coughed and gasped for air, the sound raw, and high-pitched. He didn’t seem register the man coming forward holding some kind of bat. Even if he could stand, Tony was in no position to protect himself. They hit him three times, mechanically. There was no fervor behind the blows, only routine. Each blow knocked him a bit to the side, straining his wrists and making his head roll.  When he was finished, the man grabbed Tony roughly by his shirt and set him on his legs. Tony fell back against the wall, still fighting for air.

“Okay, we have baseline again. Let’s try again, yes?

“What is your name?”

Tony’s voice was a bare whisper, but he answered.

“What is Captain America’s name?”

He answered.

“Tell me about Captain America. Tell me one of his weaknesses.”

“He… has… none,” Tony breathed, barely.

A day ago that might have made Steve proud.

“We’re there, Captain,” Jarvis said, just before Steve could ask.

“They’re in the south-west corner of the facility. Top floor. I recommend a rooftop entry.”

 _Thank God._ Steve did not think he could take much more of this helpless waiting, while Stark was being slowly murdered.

Steve changed back into his torn uniform, and pulled on his cowl.

“Barton, take us as close as you can to the south-west corner. Widow and Thor, you’re with me. Nat, you’ll come in with me, and Thor, I need you to guard the perimeter. Bannon, prepare to receive Stark.”

He was not expecting pushback.

“I distinctly declared first rights to killing that man,” Thor said, talking over Banner who protested at the same time.

“The man _wanted_ information on the Hulk.” His voice grew deeper with every word.

“Banner, you haven’t rested since the last time you Hulked out, and we’re going to need you as _you_. Stark is hurt and he’s going to need help.

“And Thor,” Steve said, looking up at the god, “you definitely called dibs. But there’s water all over that room and Tony himself is drenched,” Steve said, pointing to the display.

“It’s not the best place for lightening.”

Thor looked at him for a moment longer before he conceded.

“Make sure he suffers sufficiently,” he said, summoning his hammer. Steve stepped out of the way as it hummed past his head.

Natasha pushed alongside Steve and Thor as the hull opened, wide enough for them to leap out of and onto the roof. She was locking weapons into her belt with either hand.

“Oh, we will,” she said. And jumped.


	4. Chapter 4

The base must have been truly secret, because it offered almost no defenses. Once they landed on the roof it took them mere moments to locate a door down, and it wasn’t guarded. Steve pulled at the handle and pulled it clear from the door.

The door swung open.

They went down one flight of stairs, and cautiously opened the door onto a dimly lit stone hallway. If he had to guess, Steve would say it was Fascist-Slate.

“A left, Captain,” Jarvis said.

They saw one man in the hall, and Thor had hit him absently into a wall. He crumpled without a sound.

Natasha and Steve left Thor about midway through the hallway, and proceeded to a heavy wooden door.

Clint’s voice sparked over the comms.

“Guys? You may want to pick up the pace. Tony just told them that I grew up in Mirkwood. They’re going to establish baseline again,” he said.

“Here, Captain,” Jarvis whispered, and it felt as though his voice was now colored with… Urgency? Was that even possible? It made him like the AI a bit more.

Steve looked at Natasha. “High/low?” He asked, pointing to himself and then to her.

She nodded.

Steve held up three fingers, then two. They waited a single heartbeat after one, and Steve kicked the door open.

Widow rolled into the room as Steve charged in, flinging his shield at the woman standing behind the camera. He caught it as it swung back to him in a neat arc between the two knives Widow had thrown. Both knives lodged in the chest of the man holding the firehose. It fell to the ground with an echoing _thud_ just moments before he did.

Widow rose to her feet, a halo of mist framing her as she moved. She and Steve stood shoulder to shoulder, Tony on her left, Greenberger pressing himself against the wall to Steve’s right.

“Go,” Steve said, gesturing towards Greenberger with his head and attaching his shield to his back in the same motion. Widow crossed towards the Hydra man, and Steve went behind her to Stark.

He ignored the sounds of a one-sided fight behind him. He couldn’t imagine how the man in front of him had given sarcasm to his captors mere moments ago. The moment their attention wasn’t on him, Tony had given in to the cold and exhaustion. Up close and in person Steve could hear that Tony’s breaths rattled in his chest, as though trapped in a tin box. He looked… Small.

Steve pulled at the chain that held one of Stark’s hands. He tore it off at the cuff attached to his wrist. Hot, red tendrils of shame spread through his chest at how easy it had been, and he was glad Stark was too out of it to notice. Stark’s body slumped forward, and Steve let his head rest on his shoulder as he reached over to free the other wrist.

That got a reaction from Stark. From somewhere, he pulled reserved power to struggle against Steve. He pulled his—crap, his _injured_ —palm away, eyes wide-open, panicked and unfocused, determined not to let an attacker grab his hand. Of course, it was futile. But Steve didn’t think he had it in him to physically overpower Stark, right now. He didn’t want to remember how easy it would be to reaffirm the worst of Stark’s demons.

So he left his wrist bound to the wall, for a moment, and held Tony’s chin, instead. He held it more firmly when Tony tried to pull away. He was freezing, even under Steve’s gloved fingers.

“Hey, Stark? Tony?”

Steve bent down a bit to make eye-contact. Tony looked at him without recognition.

“Listen, Stark. We need get back to the team. I’m going to break that chain, you’re going to let me. Understood?”

Stark nodded, eyes still lost. Steve wondered how much of that had gotten through.

He supported Tony with one arm, and reached with the other toward the chain. Still maintaining eye-contact, Steve broke the chain. Stark’s arm fell limply to his side. Steve hoisted him up, holding him beneath his armpits, and turned to Black Widow.

“He resisted,” she said with a shrug, and walked past Steve to hold the door open for him.

Behind her, Greenberger lay bloody on the ground, the camera beside him in a thousand pieces. It didn’t look like he was breathing.

They made their way back to Thor, who was standing where they had left him. Now, however, several bodies of Hydra agents lay prone around him. He joined them wordlessly as they made their way up the stairs and onto the roof.

Barton had lowered a ramp on to the roof, and as they walked up Steve could feel the air getting increasingly warmer. Once they were fully inside and the ramp closed behind them, it was an inferno. Steve didn’t mind; Stark hadn’t been shuddering for a while, now. 

Steve lifted him onto the gurney that now took up most of the free space in the rear of the jet, and Banner came to his side immediately, bracing himself against the table as the jet took off.

He quickly and efficiently cut Stark out of his wet clothes, and asked Steve to help pull them out from under him. He was met with some resistance around the arms, and with a terrible jolt of guilt he realized there was still shrapnel embedded in Stark’s flesh. His own back was already healing, only long scratches remaining where the deep cuts were only a few hours earlier. Stark’s wounds were not only still fresh, they were probably worse than they had been immediately following the explosion.

But banner was unconcerned with those wounds. He placed emergency heat bags along Stark’s chest, and covered him tightly with all the blankets they had onboard.

“What are we looking at, Dr. Banner?” Steve asked. He couldn’t tear his eyes from Stark’s pale face. His lips were a ghastly black in the low lighting of the jet. He looked… Steve wouldn’t allow himself to think that. It was unthinkable.

Banner was busy measuring blood pressure and heartrate among other readings Steve didn’t recognize. The blue haze of the digital readouts made Stark look even worse. He wished they could just turn on the lights.

“It’s pretty bad, but I think we got to him in time. We’re going to have to get the metal out of his arms, some if it’s in pretty deep, and it can get infected, but that won’t be a problem if his heart stops. We do have to get him to a hospital. So warm first, then well.”

“What hospital? We’re not far out of Budapest, right?”

“No!”

“Not recommended, Cap,” Natasha said from her seat in the cockpit, and turned to look at Barton. “Hey, we finally agree about that,” she said, but offered Steve no further explanation.

Banner was more forthcoming.

“I called a colleague, a doctor Cho. She’s an expert in tissue regeneration, and when I sent her a still of that shard in Tony’s hand she insisted we come to her. She’s in Germany, now, so we’re headed there.”

Great. It was like this mission was determined to confront Steve with everything he detested about Europe. Winter here, especially. It seemed to bring out every regret Steve had, every mistake he’d made, every misjudgment. It confronted him with everything—and every _one_ — he’d lost.

But they had a man down and a team to lead, and self-pity would help them with neither.

So he had Jarvis erase all backup copies of Tony’s interrogation back at the base where he’d been held; he made sure to speak with Hungarian authorities regarding the base, and German authorities regarding their landing. And every once in a while he touched Stark’s cheek, as unobtrusively as possible, checking for some warmth to return, or a sign that he’d felt the contact. He needed the man to be okay.


	5. Chapter 5

Dr. Cho met them on the roof of the hospital with a gurney. Steve was still clearing their team for entry into German airspace—a little late for that, but the legalities had to be observed—so he’d sent Thor and Banner with Stark. Thor had loomed over Tony for a moment, then lifted him with gentleness that Steve had ever seen from him. He was careful to gather his arms so they wouldn’t dangle needlessly, and ensured the blankets were wrapped tightly around him before he took him out to the cold night air.

On the quinjet, Barton and Romanov were staring at one another silently. Steve sighed. When he finished his call he hung around for a bit, waiting for them to finish their wordless discussion.

“Cap?” Natasha asked, asking him over with a nod of her head.

“Clint and I have been talking, and…” she raised her eyes to his. She gave him a _look_.

“And we don’t think Stark needs to know who wrote that torture guide. You should have Jarvis wipe it.”

“Widow, I don’t think that’s our call to make,” Steve said. And he believed it. It was painful, and terrible, and a torture of its own just to hear that recording, but, “Stark deserves to know why this happened. He deserves the truth.”

“Not this truth, Captain.” Clint’s unwavering, unblinking gaze was fixed on him. Steve was suddenly glad they didn’t disagree very often.

“That conversation should have never happened, not from his dad. No good can come from Tony hearing it. And he definitely wouldn’t want to know that _we_ heard it. He’s kept this shit with his dad under wraps for a pretty good reason. I wouldn’t want anyone to know, either. He’s been through enough right now, he doesn’t need think we’re all pitying him. It’s your call, but… I say scrub it.”

He stood up and walked past Steve towards the ramp, and Widow excused herself after him, following him out with a silent but expressive look at Steve to second Barton’s opinion.

Steve hated lying. Nine times out of ten, it came back to bite you in the ass. It was against everything he stood for, but… Part of him knew Barton was right. Not only about Howard and Tony, but about the team. It was probably bad enough they had seen him be tortured. No one would want documentation of that. But they couldn’t let him know just how it had affected them to know about Howard. It might be worse for Tony than the actual physical torture.

He had Jarvis delete all records of that conversation. Barton was right. It never should have happened in the first place.

There was one more thing he wanted to ask of Jarvis, now that he was alone.

“Who manufactured the bomb? Back at the base, with the Vibranium shrapnel?”

“The Stark Industries Weapons Division, Captain. Only 15 were made, in 1985. It was a project personally overseen by Howard Stark.”

Steve wasn’t surprised.

He followed the others into the hospital.

Helen had consigned them all to waiting while her team handled Tony’s injuries. She came out to see them, periodically, to update on his status.

He was stable. His body temperature was almost back to normal, and there was no arrhythmia to worry about. He was still unconscious. He had a head injury from the blast, but it required only stitches and rest. His wrists were mangled. The metal cuffs atop the shrapnel had dug in deep, and had done fairly severe damage. She was fixing it now with some of her tech which was, as far as Steve could follow, magic.

Finally, she led them to a quiet room which Tony had to himself. She said he would sleep, and he’d probably have to stay at the hospital for a few days, but he would be fine.

Everyone thanked her politely, quietly, their eyes drawn to Tony’s figure on the bed. Except for Thor.

He reached down and took one of her hands in both of his, and looking her squarely in the eye said, “You have done the Avengers a great service, and your own profession proud, kind healer.”

He was utterly sincere, and he held the eye-contact a moment longer than was strictly necessary. The doctor blinked rapidly, and blushing profusely, she mumbled something and left the room.

They took seats around the bed without speaking to one another.

Clint and Natasha were the first to leave, promising they’d be back in the morning. Or later in the morning. It was already the small hours before sunrise. They had wanted to take Banner with them, but he had collapsed on the small couch in the corner almost as soon as he’d taken a seat, and they were unable to rouse him.

Steve wasn’t surprised. He usually slept for several hours after Hulking out, and he hadn’t had the chance to do that, yet. He must be spent. 

So Steve and Thor sat together in comfortable silence, watching Tony breath, slowly, rhythmically, accompanied by the beeping of the machines attached to him.

“I erased the files of Howard Stark. Clint said we shouldn’t say anything to Tony about that,” Steve offered. The dark outside was just beginning to lighten to grey.

“Naturally not. A man like that…” Thor stood. He placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Sometimes good men can be bad fathers. And even a good father can fail one of his sons.”

After a moment he added, “Earth is lucky that Stark did not turn out like Loki. He would have made a formidable foe.”

Steve looked up to Thor. He suspected that the god had missed the mark, on this one.

“Loki? Stark was never one for world-wide enslavement. And besides, he didn’t have any godly older brothers growing up,” Steve said with a smile and a nod toward Thor.

But Thor didn’t see the joke. He looked at Steve with confusion, and offered an incredulous, “No, indeed.”

When the sun came up he left to find some worthy mead.

Dr. Cho came in again shortly after, and began checking Tony’s wounds for signs of infection. She informed Steve that all things considered, he was doing very well.

“That’s great news, Doctor. Thank you.” After a moment, he asked, “How do you know Dr. Banner? I thought his work was more…”

Steve cast for the right word. He definitely did not have the technical language for what Dr. Banner did. He just knew that it was less about actual doctoring, and more about the _science_ of things. Or something.

“Theory?” He finished, and let out a small breath he’d been holding when she responded immediately.

“I actually met him through Tony,” she said, and took Tony’s arm out of the blanket for a moment to attach a new bag of antibiotics to his IV line.

“He was helping me with some tech design. I have had ideas for regeneration tech for some time, but no one was able to translate them into working prototypes until I started working with Tony. Anyway, Dr. Banner and I actually realized that _our_ work in cellular stabilization practically overlapped. I’ve been working with him on that.”

“Since when does Tony do medical equipment? I thought Stark Industries was doing energy?”

“It is, but that’s just once branch,” Cho said, as though it was obvious. Maybe it should have been, but Steve honestly had no idea how many _things_ a company like Stark’s should do.

“He’s been in biotech since… I guess about seven years, now? Practically since he’d shut down Weapons.”

She left the room with a small smile.

Steve hadn’t known that, and he wondered if he should have. He’d never actually trusted that Stark had fully reviled the world of arms. It had always seemed too lucrative, too rewarding. Stark’s mind seemed particularly honed for inventing weapons that had just that extra edge to do that little bit of extra damage.

He could see where that tendency had come from. It seemed that Howard himself couldn’t help but think in terms of inflicting harm. Steve had always suspected that Tony himself knew this, and that the Avengers were a way for Tony to save him from himself. To keep him from slipping back to who he used to be. He would never say anything—because regardless of motives, it had been a spectacular sacrifice—but he even thought that flying that nuke into space had been just to prove a point to Steve about his commitment to the team. Of course, the last few hours have changed that.

Steve hated thinking that a few months ago he might be been on that tape, or one like it, agreeing with Howard about Tony’s cowardice. How could he not have seen that Tony’s confidence was, to a certain extent, just him trying to live up to others’ expectations of him? His father’s, his colleagues’, the world’s. Steve’s. He wondered if even Tony knew that he had actually left all of them in the _dust_. He was smarter than all of them combined, sure. But it was such a given it couldn’t really impress Steve, any more than his own upper-body strength impressed him. Neither of them had actually earned those gifts.

Stark’s bravery, though… It ran a different vein that Steve’s. He was trying to make amends for things he couldn’t control. For inheriting an arms empire. For _not_ being Steve. He sacrificed because he he’d learned at some point that everything was his responsibility. He sacrificed because he had what to lose, and couldn’t let anyone else suffer that kind of loss instead of him.

Steve wasn’t like that. Even before he became a cap—for God’s sake, he couldn’t believe Stark even had _him_ saying it—a Capsicle, he suspected that he was nourished by his loneliness. He fought for ideals because he didn’t really have any _one_ left to fight for. There had been Peggy, for a while… But she went from being a hope to a memory. And since the ice? He felt out of time, out of place, out of touch. He was treated as a national hero, by officials who were empty vessels, children who couldn’t name one battle from the War. He was treated as a valued piece of equipment by Fury and SHIELD. He even found that the team, sometimes, looked to him as a leader because that was the role a National Hero _should_ have, not because they knew his qualifications for it.

Everyone but Stark.

He was antagonistic at first, but his antagonism was _honest_. He treated Steve much like he had treated anyone else he didn’t like overmuch, and Steve relished it. He hadn’t realized how desperate he had been for someone to match him in size, figuratively speaking, until he’d met Tony. He needed him to be a little larger than life. He needed someone who wasn’t afraid to go at it with him, even if he needed his armor. Someone he could throw a fist—or a shield—at, without fearing he would decapitate them. Someone who rarely laughed at his jokes, but when he did, he meant it.

Someone who saw his flaws, after all this time, was something Steve had thought he’d given up on.

Which is why he couldn’t bear to see him so helpless. He couldn’t wait for him to wake up, to put on that mask of strength that Steve needed in order to lead the team. To say something obnoxious to overwrite the sounds of him gasping and choking and begging for them to come quickly.

He waited.

Sometime in the mid-morning Tony startles awake. He looks straight up for several beats, and then, realizing where he is, or maybe where he isn’t, he looks around. He first sees Banner in the corner, and he gives a small smile. Then he shifts his gaze around the room and sees Steve. His look immediately becomes masked.

“You’re alive. That’s good. I wasn’t sure,” he said. His tone sounded deliberately light, despite his raw voice.

Steve dragged his chair a little closer to Tony’s bed.

“I could say the same thing, Stark.”

“Where is this? How about those…. Guys?”

“Germany. Banner brought you here to see Dr. Cho.”

Tony sat up straight, despite a grunt of pain as he braced his torso. He looked at the bandages on his hands and arms, then raised his eyes to Steve in burning query.

“She says you’ll be fine. She used some of her magic technology on you. No permanent damage,” Steve told him, as Tony sighed with visible relief and sagged back against his pillows. He gave him a moment’s privacy with that, and busied himself on his phone for a moment, texting the others that Tony was up.

“Cool it with the science talk, Cap. You’re making my head spin.”

Steve smiled. A moment later his phone buzzed, and he read the messages aloud as they came in.

“Clint says welcome back from the dead. Natasha says hi. Clint says _why does Banner get to sign in with his name—you know what you make me say._ Okay, I’m not doing this anymore. They can talk to you when they get here.”

When he looked up from his phone Steve saw that Tony had closed his eyes, and he wondered if he had fallen back asleep. But then Stark spoke, his eyes still shut.

“I’ve been thinking about that explosion, Cap.”

Steve filled with apprehension. He’d been dreading this, mostly because he’d been avoiding the same thought since the moment Tony dropped out of that suit. It should have been him.

“Your shield is a feat of engineering. It’s your greatest defense. We should magnetize it, like an energy bungee-cord. You should ever be in a position where it’s just out of reach.” He paused for a moment, then taking a deep breath, turned to look at Steve.

“I should have thought of that sooner. Before… _this_ had to happen.”

  _There is nothing more motivating for Tony than being held responsible for things he can’t control._

Steve loathed Howard just then.

“Sounds like a good idea, Stark. _I_ should have thought of that sooner. You were busy thinking about sending us a video signal while both your arms were chained to a wall. That’s how Jarvis found you, by the way. How does that even work?”

“Voice command. It’s the wave of the future,” Tony said, but his glance was still hooded by guilt.

He looked to Banner, then back at Steve.

“Did you figure out who wrote those… instructions, _specifically for me_?”

Steve swallowed. He remembered Barton’s stern glance, Natasha’s knowing look. Even Thor’s quiet acceptance that this is how things should be. He tried to trust his team that sometimes lies can protect.

“Not a clue. Jarvis couldn’t find anything. It was a dead end.” Steve said.

Tony nodded.

“Did I tell them anything?”

“You said that Natasha scares you more than they did, that the Hulk was green, and that Clint grew up in Mirkwood. I never took you for a _Hobbit_ fan, Stark.”

“Please,” Tony said derisively, and Steve was a little offended. That had been one of his favorite books as a kid. “ _Lord of the Rings._ The sequels are much better.”

There were sequels? He shook his head. That would have to wait.

“You didn’t tell them anything, Stark. I guess that even if that document does exist, it was written by someone who didn’t know you very well.”

Tony looked at him for a long moment after that, and Steve had to look away. That bit was true, but he felt that Stark would be able to see the rest of the truth in his eyes.

They’re quiet again for a few minutes after that, and Steve doesn’t dare look up. He doesn’t want to see Tony in that bed, looking still a little scared, and a little fragile. So he remains silent until Tony breaks the silence.

“Being a Capsicle must have _sucked._ ”

A small laughed is forced out of Steve. Stark had _no idea_.

Or maybe he did.

“It’s an elite club, you know. Not many get to know what it’s like,” Steve says, and looks up at Tony. He’s still pale, but making a visible effort to sit up straight, to look like himself.

“Did I make the cut?”

“Oh, yeah. I was just going to offer you to form a band. We can be the Polar Ice Caps.”

Tony laughs, and Steve feels a warm flash of pride. He sees Iron Man in front of him again. He knows it’s not exactly fair, and he knows that it’s not Tony’s job to be strong for him. But he’s grateful that he is. For at least a little while longer, he desperately needs him to be his equal. His friend.

He knows it’s a non sequitur, but Steve says, “My weakness is my feet.”

“What is, odd self-fetishes?”

Steve is immediately embarrassed. He tries to backpedal.

“Nothing, it was just, from before, a thing,” he mumbles.

But Stark is looking at him as though he knows.

Maybe he does.

Maybe after all this time, he deserves to know.

Tony nods at him, and lays back to close his eyes.

Steve allows himself to rest, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Thanks for reading.  
> 2) This is an odd work. I'm really just trying to understand what makes Steve tick. I settled on some kind of under-expressed sibling rivalry with Tony. I'm curious if this feels right to anyone else.  
> 3) I'm not entirely sure I had to hurt Tony along the way for this.  
> 4) Comments are welcome, as always, and I'm particularly curious to hear other people's thoughts about Steve and how/why he regularly doesn't give Tony any benefit of any doubt, ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and corrections always welcome :)


End file.
